A poem about you

NaPoWriMo #22 ekphrastic poem

And I stood there,
in the aisle of chipped yellow walls
rummaging through my thick skin,
about the last night.

the light of lovemaking,
the night of kisses and cigars,
how soft your body felt,
topaz like sunshine caressing my neck,

long afternoons of summer drinks and clouds tearing away,
something hung from the lampshades of my garden,
a memory, a perspiring flower of nostalgia.
I often walked like planets dancing on the earth,
thinking about you and your scars,
your love,
your shaded memory of vignette touch.
Everything is a dead-end, an endgame.

I always waited for you,
counting your time on my twenty fingers.
Envelopes of sequined eye gazing your arrival,
it happened in winters,
it happened in summers,
it happened again and again.
a chiseled knot of survival.

And now, I am done.
My body sweats like your skin did once,
chipping the bedsheets of nostalgia
Often I eat my own mind full of you,
trying to stick a mannequin inside my pharynx.

No, I do not wither away,
I am not a sunflower dying,
Ephemeral nights talk to me in a decent language,
slipping a thought of voice hidden somewhere.

You do not still evaporate from my orange lit mind,
you burn there, a lamp in a swamp,
feeding onto my naval of thousand skies.
I watch you there each day,
I do not speak.
I do not speak.
I sit and count you melting.

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A prayer

NaPoWriMO #20

I pray like a verbose lady,
counting the shards of air,
each night

Five fingers, doused in liquids of magenta lipid
a foreskin hanging loose,
I pray like a cloud now.

Full, and thick smoke
i am colourless.
a colourless eye of maple.
I pray thousand times a day,
to be normal.
to swallow these walls.
&
i do it exceptionally well.

Things that slip

Napowrimo#9

Whirl like topaz,
hear exhaustive voices, all like a mother-daughter relation.
Watch a point of Stagnation. Reverberation. Too much cold.
and carry the footsteps behind,
live, live like a flower on a naked body.

There are no cloying questions of life.
You will fail if you swallow life.
Don’t.
Don’t fidget about the atmosphere.
Observe these crazy annoying things in your mind.
Lillies blooming and dying.

Things as soft as a petunia.
Things are as dark as my mind.
Let them slip, oiled and kneaded
into the stack of insomnia and other wild things.
Do not think.
Conjunction of mind is a beautiful process.
So let it be.

Speed creating a sliced illusion,
you cant’ defy filthy chipped minds and nails.
Let the process of leaking begin.
Watch it once again.
How your body floats, finger evaporates up in the sky.
That glorious sky, now.

Watch it fall again.
Things that make you full.
Rains, flowers, mushrooms
bouncing like peals of laughter of unborn.
hear it… hear it again.
Let things crack in your small aperture.

Forests that speak

1.

In front of me, in the forest an array of sky shimmer.
I do not turn around to sniff the leaves,
there is a smooth trespasser on my skin.
So, I let it be.
I let the wind sit on my painted toenails.
As I walk further, rivers quarrel about a spider’s life behind.
I look at it. A life made independently.
It inspires, floral flowers blooming upon my eyelids.
A pure sound of crickets.
Sound that tickles my lips, and blurs my loss.
A stoppage to a mundane life.

2.

In my room, I would lay horizontally
glistening the birds of silk skin, disappearing like smoke.
There was my body, a stone of carcass.

3.

And As i walk into the woods,
The rain kisses my neck nonchalantly.
A silent kiss of a stranger on my lips.

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NaPoWriMo #6

My poem published on Mojave Heart Review!

Link to my published poem here

Halt

A cold mouth of air,
streaming down the rivers up till my painted toes.
I see a circled pair romancing behind the surface of the sky.
A cold distilled breaths.
Pure. Fixating, like a rubber band.

Far away from this orange sunset.
I hear umbrellas holding a hand of a detached one.
They support and smile. Simple.
Slowly, steadily like a geranium blooming after ages of scuffed earth.

Hums heard in the quietness of the diaphragm.
Subtle potions of looped lips,
speaking a language of gods.
Serene and mysterious.
poets standing on the ebb of satisfaction. Halt.
There, you, halt.

NaPoWriMo-4

Recover

It’s like a sad part of my levitating body.
My fingers have a soft tendency to nurture, to sense pain.
and I sit on the lonely roads to pick up a saddened heart, to heal it.

sometimes, I have a feeling I am solid.
Solid like a vintage door, unbreakable.
Imperishable, who can swallow darkness inside darkness?
So, I produce light out of darkness.

I act like a mother to him, as well.
With clearwing moth like a skin of his,
sewing the gasps and sighs.
His body is made of a fallen moon, I believe so.
And at times, I am confused with the methods of love.

He is a rotating axis on my forehead.
he has leaked, the times I was leaking too.
And I kept quiet and sewed him again and again.
Like a silent prayer of pure holistic clouds.

I watch,
my clavicle stuttering with the omen of noises.
Nothing is a flattened lie, but a departure.
My eyes are anxious now, to capture your lilting lips.
I watch you as you get healed now,
as I protect you now.
You are now an absent face of simmering smiles of the sky.

#Napowrimo 3

 

A day like this

Another day has gone.
I sit and pray like a maniac,
with a white smile, you can count on.
I prepare breakfast and prepare a story to tell.
I prepare so many wild things often.
Bricks on bricks, and soft wool of tales.
You left like a reptile in a hibernation.
with floors slipping beneath my china body.
i pray and pray. That’s what i know the best.

I once prayed during my abortion,
beating the sweats and my blood.
my blood was thick as a waxed cloud.
Oh, how i wish you stayed!

What is that flows and flows behind my ears?
A life. A full stop. An endless conversation with life.
Over the years I have developed a harpoon of olive skins.
Skins that are cleaved too.
They haunt me in moments of despair.
They haunt me in these bright shiny days.

And here I am sitting, sunbathed, moth running on this fungus swiveled hands.
Eating and flapping my heavy bosom.
It speaks beautiful anatomy to me.
Oh yes, it does create a map on my toes,
a map on my mind.
Here I traverse, sideways like a waterfall. A soft and a quiet one.
I am not in a sad mood today!
Autumn is my favorite season.
It speaks only the truth, the brown fallen truth.
And I swallow it like a sincere patient, popping a pill to be alright.

 

#NAPOWRIMO-2